Oliver Postgate has died. Like every Brit of a certain age, his was the voice of my childhood. Smallfilms (Postgate, animator Peter Firmin, and various handy people who were good at knitting) made telly out of bits of string in a shed at the bottom of the garden, with such obvious love and care that I feel teary just thinking about it. His imagination contributed every bit as much of my kidly fondness for stories as Blyton and Kipling and Dahl.
So, for your nostalgic viewing pleasure, here are the singing mice from Bagpuss, the Welshest episode of Ivor the Engine ever, soup (and the soup dragon) with The Clangers (spillage at 6.40!), a glimpse of Nogbad from Noggin the Nog, and some magnificently scary-looking pictures from Tottie (which we used to mock mercilessly, but secretly I adored it). Oh, I am a tiny person all over again, just listening to him… Farewell, Post, you’ll not be forgot.
I’ve mostly been reading unpublished things, which is fun except you can’t talk about them. 🙂 Am now on Andrea Levy’s Small Island, though, which is masterful.
Proof-correction time for Girl Meets Cake! I love this bit: it’s so nearly a book, and those final little tweaks and checks are amusing. Though I’m dithering over a section where my girls greet each other with the always-friendly catalogue of insults (tart, whore, that kind of thing). I know why I wrote it like that: there are legitimate, meaningful, textual reasons for those words to be there. But Tina Fey’s character in Mean Girls bellows ‘Y’all have to stop calling each other sluts and whores, because it just makes it OK for guys to call you sluts and whores‘, and she has a point. Decisions, decisions…
Visiting Narnia (well, nearly: sooo pretty), nearly killing myself with undercooked chicken (I knew there was a reason I used to be veggie), continuing my helpless obsession with Gilmore Girls, despite it being all twee and goofy.